Some stuff probably happened

Where was I? Well, Berlin. But what have I been doing? I really don't know. There are some transportation misadventures, movies with communists, stealing a TV and returning said TV...

Oh, flea market...

There's a big one every Sunday at Mauerpark. Mauer=wall, park= ... well... park. There are remnants of a famous wall at Mauerpark.

Anyway, I've been to that one a couple of times and wanted to check out a different flea market on the eastern side of town. Plus, the Mauerpark market would be closed Sunday due to some holiday I know nothing about.

So Kathryn tells me I probably won't get mauled by a bear en route to this market, so off I go. And there it isn't. See that giant empty lot in the photo? Yeah... not filled with cars. Nor with people offering their wares for a price from said cars.

Nicht markt. Scheiss.

No matter. This possibility had been acknowledged, so I came armed with a Plan B. Take the train to XXX stop (it's not called that -- the XXX was suppose to be a placeholder, but I can't remember the name of the stop), which is said to be a good 'hood. So I do. It's sketchy as hell. Which would not be surprising if it really was named XXX. 

Sketchy b/c there's nobody around and everything is closed. Due to that holiday. Which falls a week before Dead Sunday. Another "holiday." Fun times in Berlin.

But I did happen across the obliterated Klingon moon of Praxis. After the mining kerfuffle, apparently it opened up an office here in a (not) undiscovered country.

Oh, we stole Willem's TV and watched a movie about a commune. 

A cunning linguist

I like having surprises and/or knockdown "hilarious" quips ready for Kathryn when she fetches me at Tegel Airport in Berlin.

Incidentally, when writing out directions for me to get wherever in the city via the train (U-Bahn und S-Bahn), she'll always put the name of the station I should go to in quotes. So the directions will read something like: Take the U8 line to "Voltastraße" and then go to whatever exit, etc.

OK... does that mean I get off at Voltastraße? Or is she sneakily hinting that I don't get off at Voltastraße? Maybe the station really isn't called Voltastraße -- which, I believe, roughly translates to "Voltron Street." It's adjacent to Transfoermars Platz.

Anyway, several years back for my first Berlin trip, I walked out of luggage claim with my (comparatively) crazy long hair and beard. She hadn't seen me in seven or so years and was shocked. It rocked.

Next trip I had this gem prepared:

What do you call it when a Berlin airport practices opening and closing its front door?

Tegel exercises! 

She tried to get the bus to turn around and drop me back off. And then last year she sent one of her henchmen to get me, thus denying me the opportunity for more airport shenanigans. So this year, with the help of those Pimsleur CDs, I was ready to spreche her brain!

So we get on the bus and it starts to roll. But before I can break out the Deutsch, horns are honked, tires are screeched and our bus stops. In the middle of the road. With a dozen or so cars waiting. It seemed the bus cut off a car and that driver was mad, and our driver was mad that that driver was mad. Or the car tried to cut off the bus and honked when the bus didn't let him, making our driver mad.

Either way, our driver was mad.

So he stops the bus in the middle of traffic, gets out and approaches the car. There is some yelling and gesturing, as far as we could tell, before our driver meandered back to the bus. While continuing to gesture/turn around. And look pissed off. 

It seems a bad idea to piss off a German with a bus, no? 

So that all happens and the driver finally gets back in and starts driving. Which is when I say... Tell me, Kathryn, what would you like to do today. Would you like to get something to eat? Or drink? Wine or beer? I would like to get something to drink, but later. Not now.

All in German. Grammatically solid and reasonably well-pronounced German, in fact. (I'd write it out in German but I don't know how to spell many of the words. Maybe I record audio and post. Maybe not. Just get the damn CD from your local library.) 

The reaction? Stunned silence. Look of disbelief. More stunned silence. More disbelief. Rinse and repeat.

Outstanding.

Of course, I used about a third of my German vocabulary right there, but it was worth it. 

Exercise that, Tegel!

Coming up later ...

Cats, large women cutting in line, those crazy communists and Mattress Transport 101.

Blogging from behind

No, it's not what you think. You dirty bastards.

Had internet issues. Combined with laziness issues. Hence no posts. So I try to sum up the last couple of days here.

First, the flight. Free booze. And Coke Zero. And movies. Air Berlin, FTW. I watched Hangover III, which wasn't as terrible as the reviews indicated -- though it wasn't that great either. Also watched The Host, which was as terrible as the reviews indicated.

                                    

Oh, backing up a sec ...

I've been learning German. A little. Listening to those Pimsleur CDs. It's actually a lot of fun. So ich spreche yetz ein bisson Deutch. Except I probably can't spell anything correctly b/c it's only audio. But whatevs.

So I try my German out on the plane, first with the guy sitting next to me. I thanked him very much (in German) for offering to put my bag in overhead compartment. Then told him I was learning German. He said, "don't even bother. Nobody speaks it correctly anymore" or something to that effect. 

Then he got up and moved to a different seat. Not even kidding.

Next with flight attendant I ordered wine. All gut until he replied with some question, forcing me to fess up that I didn't know what I was talking about (usually I can know people for years if not decades before having to make that admission). He was asking if I wanted white or red. I should have been able to fake answer that one. Jon fail. Anyway, he said he believed I was German -- but just for a moment.

All this leads up to meeting ol' buddy Kap at the airport. Kap who lives in Berlin (and graciously offers an extra mattress on her floor for my stay) and speaks near-fluent German. Kap who has no idea that I'm learning useful words rather than my normal "Achtung! Ich bin ein wafflestrasse" or "unter den waffleplatz" nonsense.

Incidentally, there's no Waffle Street or Waffle Plaza here. But there should be. My god, there should be.

So what happened when I got through baggage claim and customs (where the guy was suspicious of my Checkpoint Charlie passport stamps from several years back even though the dude there swore it was fine) and started spreching my brains out? Tune in next time ...

Meanwhile, here's this:

Flushing it out

So I hadn't decided whether to blog this trip. Figured FB/some photo site updates might be enough. 

Then I walked into a men's room at JFK and nearly was run over by a woman frantically running out while lamenting, "I accidentally went into the men's room!" 

Not sure if she was running from the men's room in general or from whatever rancid waste some dude (or her?!) left in there for all to smell. Lovely. Then I frantically went running out while lamenting, "I accidentally went into hell!"

Welcome to the blog.

I'm not going to London. They sprechen kein Deutsch. Of course, I spreche lots of English, but whatevs. It's all gut.